


First Dark Moon

by CavannaRose, MelyssaShadows



Series: World of Darkness Fics [1]
Category: Vampire: The Masquerade, World of Darkness (Games)
Genre: Antediluvian, Antediluvian Period, Gen, Vampire Bites, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2020-10-18 16:35:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20642273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavannaRose/pseuds/CavannaRose, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelyssaShadows/pseuds/MelyssaShadows
Summary: She awakens, having slumbered after the death of her lover. She knows not how much time has passed, but someone shall face retribution for how she has been wronged.





	1. Chapter 1

She awakened slowly, oblivion parting like a knife running through molasses. Just like every evening for more years than she could possibly count. But this evening, like so many others, her beloved was not there to run his hand over her face and through her hair, caressing her back from the grip of death. For æons he coaxed whatever power fueled them to return her to his embrace for another night, but no longer. That first puff of air escaped her lips, signalling that once more she would walk the night alone, and her lips pulled down at the corners as she shifted onto her side, long lashes sweeping over skin no longer the darkest ebony, parted as it was from the sun. Her strange white eyes took in her empty room, and she mourned.

They said, the foolish, ambiguous mass known as they, that time cured all wounds. Fools and charlatans, playing at deep emotions they could not understand. Her heart ached for her beautiful man with every day they spent apart. His passion and his dedication, to both her and his goal. had been her very life. He had a fire inside him that she would never have believed could be quenched, and it had ignited her entire being. When you found your perfect match, the soul that set your own ablaze, who could stand in your way? He had taken what should have been a punishment and turned it into their Elysium.

He had given her love, life, and children to call her own. Perhaps they were not of her body born, but their blood gave their children life, and her heart knew that it was the same. The petty gods could throw whatever they wished at her beloved, and he would rise above them victorious, with her at his side. Or so they had believed in their arrogance. In the end it was not by the hand of gods that he had fallen, but one scrawny human with a wooden stick. She had watched the millennia that was her love dissolve into ashes and blow away on the wind, her agonized cries echoing to the heavens.

She sat up, the blankets, once rich and sumptuous, now faded and aging, fell away from her, pooling around her waist in a puff of dust as she waved a hand in front of her face, as if the gesture could drive away the dark thoughts of her broken heart. Spiderwebs tangled in her long fingernails, and she froze, taking on that complete lack of motion only the dead could truly achieve. Moments went by, so minute she couldn't even remember what they were called, and tilting her head she took in her boudoir. Windowless, though she had begged her love for shutters to allow the moonlight into their room. He had chided her carelessness, worrying over the damage that could be done if passion overcame reason. Once the very height of lavishness, everything seemed slightly... less. Bordering on shabby.

Teeth bared, she slid from the bed, each step greeted with another puff of dust, cobwebs tangling into the locks of her hair. A thin hissing sound escaped her parted lips. What had transpired here? How long had she slept, without her lover's embrace to awaken her? She moved past the armoire that held all her gowns, expensive silks and satins brought from every corner of the world by her love, and to the door of their chambers. The handle refused to turn under her hand, and with a small shriek of effort, she pulled back, ripping the very wood from it's hinges. Facing her was a wall of grey material, thick and coarse, and completely blocking her egress.

Shock rippled across her face, forcing her to stagger backwards, one hand clutching her chest where her heart no longer beat. She had been... entombed? Who had dared? Had one of her love's enemies conspired while she slept? Had the humans rallied and risked her vengeance? She would find the perpetrator of this gross betrayal, and she would flay their skin from their hide inch by excruciating inch. Swearing curses in a language so old that it was no longer remembered as existing at all, she tore into the cursed substance, ignoring the cracking of her nails and the flesh peeling from her bones. With a feeding, it would all grow back, but if she could not leave, then her only option would be to return to her indefinite slumber.

Hours seemed to pass, but finally, the slenderest tendril of moonlight eased between the cracks in whatever had sealed her into her chamber. Her hands were a ragged mess, but she drove harder through the obstacle until she could claw her way to the surface. Stretched out on the strange cold ground, clad only in her nightdress, she whispered a few more dark curses into the wind, letting it take word of her vengeance to those that had wronged her. When she was strong again, she would follow it. Until then, she used her own meager blood to draw the runes on this hard not-dirt.

That first step taken, she drew herself to a standing position with all the grace and dignity she could muster, and took in her surroundings. She was in some kind of building, old and dirty, with moonlight wavering through the cracked window panes high above her head. In a blink she was across the room and up a set of rickety wooden stairs, then onto the next floor. Here, strange metal monstrosities sat, rusting and inactive. A fleeting moment of curiosity caught her, but that faded as the scent of prey rose from among them.

She stalked through the odd monoliths, until she found the source of they prey smell. A human, scrawny and unwashed, beard crawling with vermin, curled up on the floor in a tattered jacket. Wrinkling her nose, she knelt beside him. When she was healed, she would be choosier, but for now, she was not certain how plentiful prey would be in this odd new world. Crooning a song as ancient as the land that slumbered beneath them, she tugged the man into her lap. His eyelids fluttered as he looked up into her face. "_C-cosa sta succedendo qui_?"

Her fangs, small and delicate, slid into place and she dipped her head to his foul smelling neck, hands healing as they held him in a fierce grip. Healed and sated, she dropped the desiccated corpse at her feet, and brushed off the dried remains of blood and whatever he had been covered in from her hands. That accomplished, she turned her attention back to the night. She could smell the dawn, hours away, but that did not hold her interest. Not yet. She needed to learn all she could about what had transpired during her sleep. What had mourning her lost love cost her now?


	2. Chapter 2

The night wind swirled around her, teasing at the faded edges of her nightdress like an old friend. In the sky, stars shone dimly, and she blinked up at them in consternation. They seemed different than the stars she remembered, and the moon seemed so far away. One dark hand reached into the sky, like one would longingly reach for a lover. She held perfectly still, like a statue, feeling the night. Her eyes closed against the unfamiliar vista, denying it's existence for a long moment. How cruel to wake in a foreign time, without her Ambrosio to take her hand and guide her. He always had a sense of a place, an innate knowledge of where to go and what to do next. He was the gentle to counteract her violence, the tempered wisdom to balance her impulsive emotionalism.  
  
She was lost without him, and her first instinct was to return to the mausoleum, to sink back into the sleep that could hold her for a thousand years and more. She had almost decided, but then remembered. It had been tainted. Sealed over. Someone had found it and defiled it. Her home was no longer a sanctuary. That thought shook her to her core. With their private retreat violated she was... homeless. Alone in the world and without respite. Her fangs flashed angrily, a primal sound of rage building within her breast. It was the cattle's fault. They had taken her beloved, and now they had torn down her palace, leaving ugly square buildings in its place.  
  
Her face twisted with hatred, her beautiful features warping into something from nightmare as she shouted into the sky, the language old enough that the ground struggled to shift beneath her feet. She cursed at the gods, long forgotten even before she had sunk into slumber, who had locked her into this existence, and she cursed the short lived, short-sighted cattle. The walking blood sacks who dared to defy those that were clearly their superiors. She would paint the world crimson to punish them for what she had lost. A thousand deaths to begin, a thousand deaths to show them that she had returned and she would be a vengeful goddess.  
  
Where to start, though? She would need wealth. Gold and jewels and fine garments to adorn her body. She would need a seat of power, something grand and elegant. She would need assistance. Somewhere out in the world, her children hunted. She could feel them, a thousand tiny sparks, some brilliant, and others faded. Had her children made children? It was forbidden when Ambrosio and she ruled so long ago, but she did not begrudge them. She did not even know how long she had been absent. Another thought struck her, paining her heart. What if it was her children that had betrayed them? Could it be?  
  
No. Impossible. The bloodline was strong, and obedience was ingrained in the making. Her offspring could not raise a hand against her. They loved her, and she loved them. Fiercely. She sent a pulse through the blood, a summons, a seductive trail of breadcrumbs leading back to her. Mother has awoken. Mother calls you home. She tempered it with her love, but also her anger. Her rage at the loss of Ambrosio, her furious reaction to awakening in a sealed tomb. All of it she sent out, through the blood, to bring her childer back to the fold.  
  
They would have gathered wealth and many pretty things, and they would bring them. She was certain of it. Who could resist the call of the Eldest? The magic burned bright and hot through her stolen blood, and then blinked out, as if it had never been. She staggered with the force of it, as if someone had slammed a door on her. There was powerful magic in the air of the City, a city that she had once called her own. She tasted the air, rolling the scent around in her mouth to determine who or what would dare defy her in such a way. The energy of the magic was bright, sunshine and life. Newness. A hint of frankincense.  
  
She knew that smell, the new religion. A group of cattle that called themselves a church, telling themselves stories of a one true god to keep them warm and safe at night. She remembered them. Fragile creatures using words and water and crossed sticks to gird themselves against the terrors of the dark. Fools and charlatans, for the most part, but here.... Here one had held power. Here one had awakened to something inside himself and used it to protect his City against the Calling of the Blood. No matter. She would find this little mage and he would be the first of many deaths she would bring down on this place.  
  
She scented again, moving in the direction of the magic, before stopping. Another scent on the air, familiar, but not. For a moment she almost thought it was Ambrosio, but no, he was gone and this wasn't quite the same. Distracted, and intrigued by the chance that another of the Kindred was stalking the night, she turned away from her quarry for now, blending into the shadows as she flowed over the cobbled streets. She moved like liquid and smoke, though still bound to her own form this soon after awakening, with so little feeding.  
  
She would need to hunt again this night, the magic was already draining her, but she needed to see. Blood of her kind but not of her blood was out in the night, and that was something new, something interesting. Was that what had woken her? This strange new scent? Or was it something else entirely? Perhaps the Kindred she stalked would know, would be able to tell her when she was. Perhaps she was not the Antediluvian of his line, but she was still the Eldest, and that should hold the respect of whomever was out in the darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

The memory curled around her like the smoke of a well-tended fire. Warm, comforting, with just that faintest hint of danger. Fire was elemental, containable but not controllable. At any moment it might spark and leap from it's carefully maintained place and set the whole world alight. So too, were the memories of the Eldest. Millennia weighed heavy on even the strongest minds, and at any moment nostalgia could overwhelm the mind, burning up what sanity remained until there was nothing but ashes and the scent of what had come before. Her memories had an added bite. Love. The struggle. The betrayals. The violence inherent in keeping what they had fought so hard for. It dragged one down, threatening to consume one.

Still, she could not resist the siren call of the memory, and she let it filter through her. It sifted through the lungs that no longer needed air. It wrapped around the heart that no longer beat. It flowed through the veins that carried stolen blood, slow as molasses. She sunk into it, let it overwhelm her senses until all she could see, breathe, hear... it was all just part of the memory. A moment frozen forever in her eternal memory. Within that moment, their love would go on until the world stopped turning, even though her lover was gone, just so much ash on the capricious winds of fate.

It had been late in the rainy season. The skies so dark during the day that they could risk venturing outside, even in the early evening before the sun had fully set. They were weaker, but with the cursed star locked behind its barricade of obsidian clouds, they were safe as if it full night. The mortals had scurried away to hide behind closed doors and leaky roofs, as if the cleansing rains might wash them away along with their sins. Not the two vampires though. They walked hand in hand, her face turned up, eyes closed, delighting in the experience. His eyes were on her. They were always on her, filled with that fierce, possessive love that she had learned to lean on in their centuries together. A love that never waned, never strayed. 

The air felt different in the day time. The night had a heaviness to it that even the fiercest storm could not mimic. The world felt more alive, as if it struggled to scream into the void 'I am here!' She wanted to run her claws down the spine of the world and taste its blood. She wanted to dance at the glory of the pain let loose from a sky crying in torment. She released Ambrosio's hand to stretch her arms heavenward. Spinning in a circle she sang a song, ancient and full of longing. Around her the ground trembled, the stones straining towards her call. A pale hand caught hers back up, drawing her in to his chest. 

She stilled against him, just as she always did, feeling the strength of his aura washing over hers. Even as a mortal, his inherent power had called to her. Pupil-less eyes rose to meet his as his strong hand cupped her jaw. "The elements respond to your voice, even now, sweetest flower. You are the heartbeat of the very earth this evening, and as the moon draws nearer, you will bend and shape lesser beings to your will, reform them in your image. The gods may have stripped us of our life, but this shall not be a curse. We will have eternity in one another's arms, and with your power, our children will be legion. When the last altar crumbles into dust, our children will still stalk the earth, and you will be there to see them rise."

She melted against him, his words warming her even though his skin could not. He always seemed to see through to her heart, to what she desired most. "Can we? Can we really make children? I thought with the gods turning their backs on us, I was doomed to never feel that joy." She rushed on, not wanting to upset him. "Your love was worth the sacrifice, and I made it with the knowledge that it would be enough. But to have blood of my blood..." Her face filled with hope. Here, in the rain shunned by so many, it felt like life was flowing back into her veins. Sweeter than that first bite, the hope that their would be those that would follow.... It was more than she had dreamed of, though less than she had held in her secret heart. "But... how?" She trailed her fingers across the unblemished skin of her midriff. "I have tried all my magics. My womb will not quicken."

Ambrosio laughed, that telling laugh that said he carried a secret. "Come, my love. I will show you." Fingers interlaced, he led her towards one of the low houses, pushing open the door with ease and stepping inside. Within the hovel a young couple huddled together, eyes wide with fear. They were fit, handsome, and she could taste their emotions on the air. Newlywed. Practically as virginal as the un-tilled soil behind their tiny croft. She was puzzled, but followed her lover as he stalked across the meager space to stand over them. Using his own powers, he trapped them with his eyes, beckoning for them to stand. 

His hand cradled that of the young woman, and Selene frowned as the young man stood docilely before her. "Now, my sweet. My thorny rose, my undying queen. Feel the moon rising behind us, summon your magic from deep within the earth, and as you feed on this mortal, let him in turn taste of you. Give him part of your magic, your essence, as you in turn taste of him. If you raise enough magic, the oracle said that he will rise with tomorrow's moon. This girl, too. Take them both, and have your first children. Blood of your blood. Our legacy, to walk the night eternally at our sides."

Eyes wide with wonder, she did as she was bid, summoning the magic, letting the song of the moon sear through her veins, and into the young man. When he had fallen, she took his young bride and repeated the process. The magic was dizzying. The power overwhelming. When she was done, Ambrosio had to carry her home, so drained and elated was she. She stopped him at the door, taking that last thread of magic before she was worn out to lay a geas on the house. No one would enter through the door before she returned, and none would leave. When they returned the next evening, either she would have two new children, or she would not. Whichever it was, Ambrosio had given her hope.


End file.
